


Can't Trust Myself Anymore

by zahnie



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Angel Powers (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Charlie Bradbury Lives, Choking, Confusion, Crossover, Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Eliot Spencer's Cooking, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Loss of Control, M/M, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Multi, Not in a sexy way, Pie, Pre-Relationship, Research, Yes both of them, is there a tag for research slumber party? there should be, sometimes I try to put my tags in a coherent order but not today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahnie/pseuds/zahnie
Summary: Eliot is given the Mark of Cain against his will, with no idea what it is or what it will do to him.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	Can't Trust Myself Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenmonstermash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmonstermash/gifts).



> It feels like I've been working on this fic for ages but that's just because the last couple months were about a decade long each. Oh, on a specifically pandemic warning note: Eliot seems kind of feverish in this fic (he isn't, there's no coronavirus in the fic either) but, yeah, be aware.
> 
> Leverage set mid-season 3 after Pretzels, Supernatural set mid-season 10 before Cain's defeat. Both a crossover and a fix-it fic, we're covering a lot of ground here :D 
> 
> This fic has nothing at all to do with my other Leverage/Supernatural crossover, if you wondered. Except they both have Dean and Eliot fighting.
> 
> Huge hugs to greenmonstermash for being the BEST <3 Love to Laura for reading my fic out loud to me, now over Skype: another one!
> 
> Title from [Going Under by Evanescence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdhqVtpR2ts)
> 
> Playlist [here](https://zahnie.tumblr.com/post/615261934905851905/leveragesupernatural-fic-playlist)

Eliot bursts into the back room, succeeding in catching the four goons in there by surprise. The first one stumbles back, clutching his bleeding nose. He must have been right behind the door. Eliot punches him solidly in the gut and he goes down. The second goon is barely out of his chair before Eliot takes him out too.

The third and fourth men are harder, both because they're better trained and because Parker and Hardison choose this moment to start bickering with each other over the comms. Eliot doesn't waste his breath telling them to shut up. They would ignore him anyway.

As the third man drops his gun, Eliot notices the fifth man. He's older than the rest, grey in his hair and beard, just sitting in the corner of the room, watching.

Eliot doesn't have time to wonder about him because both of the men he's fighting are trying to dive for the gun and he takes the opportunity to kick them. Only one of the men gets back up.

Now it's Eliot's turn to dive for the floor. The fourth man's shots go wide, hitting the wall.

“Whoa, those were gunshots! You okay, El?” Hardison asks, as Eliot tackles the fourth man's legs to bring him down. The last bullet goes into the ceiling.

The fourth man clicks the empty gun into Eliot's face. Eliot smiles grimly as he punches him into unconsciousness.

“Eliot?” Sophie asks.

Can't they hear him breathing? That should be good enough. Eliot pushes his hair out of his face and looks up.

The fifth man is still sitting in the corner of the room. Behind him, in the corner of the ceiling, is a security camera. Eliot waves at it half-heartedly, still catching his breath. The adrenaline of the fight is fading and he can feel a few bruises starting to make themselves known.

“Enjoy the show?” Eliot growls at the old man.

He tilts his head slightly and then gives Eliot the tiniest of nods.

Eliot considers him for a moment. The old man looks even more out of place, now that the room is full of unconscious thugs. He's dressed better, for one thing.

A little smile appears on the man's face. He extends his arm to Eliot, like he needs help getting up.

Eliot finds himself walking over without really deciding to. He grasps the man's surprisingly muscled forearm. The man's fingers dig into Eliot's arm at the same time.

Pain hits Eliot without warning. Sudden intense agony, originating at his outstretched arm, spreading almost instantaneously through his body. Eliot screams.

He falls to his knees, overwhelmed by pain. As Eliot drops, the old man stands up, still holding on to Eliot's arm. It hurts too much for him to draw breath for another scream.

In the unnatural silence of that shared moment, Eliot hears the old man say, “This will help you start killing again.”

He feels the man let go. The impossible pain stops abruptly. Eliot gasps in a shaky breath. His ears are suddenly full of the voices of his team, yelling over each other to ask him what happened.

Eliot takes another breath and raises his head. The old man is gone.

“El, come on, baby, talk to me,” Hardison babbles. “I can see you there, being all alive, but I need to know if you need an ambulance, like, _right_ now.”

Eliot pushes off the floor and stands up. His right arm is throbbing but there's no blood, no wound. “I'm... fine,” he rasps, trying not to sound too surprised about it.

“What the hell was _that_ , then?” Nate asks, while Hardison sighs in relief.

Eliot shakes his head. “I have no goddamn idea.” He turns towards the door. One of the goons on the floor groans. “On my way out now.”

***

Eliot doesn't join up with the others right away. He needs to move, needs to shake off the lingering feeling of helplessness if he can. He leaves his comm on, though, because Hardison threatened to come find him if he didn't. And Eliot needs to be alone right now.

“Since he was facing away from the only camera, I can't do a facial recognition search. Who only has one camera in a room anyway?” Hardison complains in his ear.

“I can draw him for you,” Parker offers. She still has her earbud in too, though the job is over. Nate and Sophie are both off doing something else now.

“Maybe later,” Eliot says, distracted. His arm hurts.

He rolls up his sleeve to take a look. Weirdly, he can't see any bruises forming from the old man's fingers. There _are_ some new angry red scars, just below the inside of his right elbow. One long right angle with two smaller dots beside it.

Eliot prods them gingerly and winces. They're raised to the touch like there's something under his skin. He pulls his sleeve back down.

“Where are you going now?” Hardison asks.

“Getting coffee,” Eliot says. He didn't have a destination in mind before but now he's mentioned it, coffee sounds good.

“Bring me a mocha, extra whip!” Parker chirps.

“Oooh, yeah, I could go for a latte right about now,” Hardison says.

“I wasn't—oh, fine,” Eliot says, resigned.

There's a new locally-owned coffee shop he's been meaning to try nearby. It turns out not to be as nearby as he thought.

Six blocks further, Eliot notices somebody is following him. He turns down the next side street and makes a loop back to the original street. The white man in the beige trench coat follows Eliot's route exactly.

“Hardison, I have a tail,” Eliot says. He gives Hardison his location.

“Got him! That security camera is _way_ too nice for a regular convenience store,” Hardison says. “I wonder if it's a front.”

“Wonder _after_ you find out who it is,” Eliot growls.

“So, we're not getting coffees?” Parker asks.

She sounds so forlorn that Eliot thinks about buying her chocolate to make up for it. Hours later after he's shaken the guy loose and gone home, he's tired and his bed actually looks inviting for once.

He expects to spend the night sleepless, especially considering what the old man said to him. Instead, Eliot sleeps for seven entire hours without waking up once. He doesn't even dream.

***

The next day, Hardison calls a meeting at Nate's apartment to debrief on the last job and the identity of Eliot's tail. “His name is Jimmy Novak. The weird thing is, he's been missing for years. Just walked out on his family one day.”

Eliot stares at the picture of Jimmy. He looks different from the man Eliot saw yesterday but he can't pinpoint how. His arm throbs. Eliot closes his left hand around the scars, trying to hold in the pain.

Hardison must keep talking because the photo changes. A young blonde girl glares out at them now. She must have some connection to Jimmy because Eliot's never seen her before.

Parker says, “If she ages out of the system and leaves the state, they won't look for her. It's the second best way to get them to lose interest.”

“What's the best way?” Hardison asks.

“Steal all their files.”

The scars are hot to the touch. Eliot can feel the heat through his shirt sleeve. Again, he wonders if there's something stuck under his skin, making the angry lines of the scars stick out like that.

“Eliot?”

He snaps his head up. Everybody is staring at him.

“What?” he growls, annoyed.

“Go with Parker while she breaks into Novak's motel room,” Nate says, with that exaggeratedly patient tone Eliot hates.

He limits his response to nodding and standing up. Because if he speaks, he's going to start yelling at Nate and that won't change anything anyway.

Hardison looks worried. Eliot's tempted to 'forget' his earbud so he doesn't have to listen to another lecture about the likelihood of infection in untreated wounds. As if he doesn't know more about it than Hardison does.

Obviously, Eliot does wear his comm and even turns it on when he and Parker get close to the motel. As he pulls into a vacant parking space, Parker pokes him. Eliot flinches and grips the steering wheel so hard it creaks. _Fuck_ , that hurts.

“You're not okay,” Parker says, her tone matter-of-fact.

“I'm fine,” Eliot grits out through his teeth.

Parker reaches out to poke him again and he catches her hand before she can. “Cut it out.”

“It's getting worse,” she says, and he sees a flicker of concern in her eyes, though it doesn't show in her voice.

“She's right, El,” Hardison chimes in from the comm.

Eliot sighs heavily. He can't handle both of them at once. “Okay, I'll get it checked out,” he says. “ _Alone_.” The last thing he needs is half his team leaning over his shoulder while somebody digs shrapnel or whatever out of his arm.

“Do you have a fever?” Parker asks.

Eliot realizes suddenly he's still gripping her hand. He lets go at once. It's weird she didn't break his hold already. He's taught her at least ten different ways to do it.

“El?” Hardison again.

“Are we doing this or not?” Eliot growls and gets out of the car.

***

Jimmy's motel room is so tidy it looks unused. Except for the sprawling patchwork mural tacked to the wall. That's definitely not a regular feature of the motel.

Parker takes one look at the wall and says, “Conspiracy theories.” She nods once like that settles it, and moves on to searching the rest of the room.

Eliot pulls out his phone to document the wall for Hardison. At first glance, the printouts, notes, and newspaper clippings look random. Colour photocopies of paintings with Biblical themes are completely of place next to the clippings of disappearances, murders, and crop failures. Then, in the dead centre of the wall, Eliot sees a photograph of his scars.

Feeling like he's in a dream, he rolls up his sleeve to check. The angry red lines in the photo match his scars exactly. It can't be possible. Eliot hasn't even shown the team yet, let alone a stranger. It doesn't make any sense.

“Wow, that's a whole bundle of crazy,” Hardison says in his ear. “Real serial-killer wall.”

“What's that?” Parker, suddenly beside Eliot. He covers the scars with his hand automatically.

“I said, it's—”

“No, that noise,” Parker hisses, staring at the door.

Eliot hears it too. A key in the lock. “Go,” he tells Parker and she's gone, heading further into the room to the bathroom window.

Jimmy Novak opens the door. It must be him, though Eliot thinks again about how different he looks from his missing person photo.

“You are in my room,” Jimmy says, not even sounding surprised. He steps forward.

Eliot tries to dodge around him, to get out of there. Jimmy grabs him, his fingers digging in to Eliot's forearm, just like the old man yesterday.

“Wait,” Jimmy commands. He stares at the scars.

Eliot punches him in the face with his other hand. Jimmy inhales in surprise but his grip doesn't loosen. Eliot hits him again.

Jimmy lets go as he falls to the floor. Then Eliot is free to use both hands to punch him.

He kneels there on the cheap motel carpet, feeling the bones of Jimmy's face break under his fists. Blood on his hands. Doing what he was made for.

The sudden push backward catches Eliot entirely by surprise. He slams into the opposite wall, all the breath knocked out of him. He gasps for air.

Jimmy stands up. His face is a bloody wreck. He shouldn't be conscious, let alone upright. He should be dead. Eliot's beaten people to death before. He knows what it feels like.

Jimmy makes a sound. Eliot can't look away from the ruin of his face. It's too much. Eliot should have run to meet up with Parker after Jimmy went down. He can't understand why he kept going. The worst part is he didn't even _try_ to stop himself.

He has to get out of here. Eliot pushes against the wall but he can't move. It's like the air is solid.

Jimmy covers his face with his hands. When he drops them back to his sides, his face is whole. Healed.

Eliot gapes at him.

“I said,” Jimmy says, “you can't kill me that easily.”

He can't breathe. This can't be happening.

Jimmy crosses the room slowly, deliberately. There's blood on the collar of his white shirt. “How long have you had the Mark of Cain?” he asks. The capitals are clear in his voice.

“Eliot!” Parker calls in his ear, impatient. “Come on!”

Jimmy's eyebrows draw together. “Who is that?” he asks.

He can't possibly _hear_ Parker on the comms without an earbud. Eliot tries to breathe. The air isn't cooperating.

Jimmy waves his hand. Eliot slumps to the floor as the invisible pressure disappears. He half-chokes breathing in. His arm throbs.

“Who are you working for? Cain? Crowley?” Jimmy asks.

“Hurry up,” Parker says.

“Go without me,” Eliot subvocalizes to her, hiding his face for a moment so Jimmy can't see his lips move.

“Why? What's going on?”

Hardison cuts in, “Yeah, what _is_ going on?”

“Who are you talking to?” Jimmy asks, standing much too close. “And how are you talking to them?”

Eliot surges to his feet. The air pins him to the wall again, though this time he can still breathe.

Jimmy flips open a burner phone and taps a few buttons. “Dean, it's Castiel,” he says, “You and Sam should come to Boston. I found another human with the Mark of Cain.” He shuts the phone. Either he was leaving a message or he has terrible phone etiquette.

“He's calling himself Castiel,” Eliot tells Hardison quietly, because he might as well. Nothing makes sense.

“Who, Jimmy? I thought you were knocking him out,” Hardison says.

“How do you know the name Jimmy?” Castiel asks. He's frowning again.

“Cut off my comm,” Eliot tells Hardison, no longer bothering to lower his voice.

“ _What_? El, what is—”

Eliot growls, “He can hear you. Do it now.”

The answering silence is a relief. At least Eliot can save the others from whatever he's walked into.

Castiel is staring at him again. “Why did Cain give you the Mark?”

The old man's words come back to him. _This will help you start killing again_. Eliot shudders.

Then his brain starts working, finally. Castiel can't be talking about Cain from the Old Testament, can he?

A verse from Genesis pops into Eliot's mind. _And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand._ Cain killed his brother but the point of the Mark wasn't to make Cain kill more. It was to stop people from killing Cain as he wandered eternally as a fugitive. None of it adds up.

The pressure of the air fades. Eliot refocuses to see Castiel breathing heavily, his hands braced on his knees. With a huge effort, Eliot manages to step away from the wall.

Castiel glares at him. “I can find you again, anywhere you go,” he pants.

“Thanks for the warning,” Eliot grunts, as he pushes through the semi-solid air to the motel door. He staggers into the parking lot, suddenly able to move freely. He hotwires the nearest car, an ugly beige boat of a thing. Hopefully it's Castiel's.

Eliot throws his phone and dead ear piece out the window as soon as he's on the main road.

***

And still, three hours later, there's a knock at his safe house door.

Eliot's already scowling before he answers it because he can see the door handle move as someone works on the lock. The door opens and he grabs it before Parker can squeeze in.

“No,” he growls, glaring at her and then at Hardison, who's right on Parker's heels. Parker glares back at him.

“Don't you 'no' us, after you took off like that,” Hardison says. “What the hell happened?”

Eliot braces against the door, blocking their way. They aren't trying to push past him yet. That could change at any moment.

“Eliot!” Parker snaps.

“Come on, man, let us in,” Hardison says.

“No,” Eliot says again. It isn't safe.

Hardison leans around Parker. He reaches out to Eliot, like he's going to touch him. A flash of how it felt to beat Castiel's face in and Eliot is stumbling back into the foyer, releasing his hold on the door. He can't let it happen again.

Hardison and Parker stand in the doorway for a second, staring at him. Then they come in, because of course they do. That's what they wanted all along.

“What happened?” Hardison asks again, his voice gentler this time.

Parker closes the front door and locks it behind her.

Eliot's hands are shaking a little. Where does he even begin? “It's gonna sound crazy.”

“We're good at crazy,” Parker says, meeting his eyes. Hardison nods.

Eliot rolls up his sleeve and starts explaining.

***

“Who codenames themselves after obscure angels anyway?” Hardison wonders out loud. “You'd think if you're going angelic anyway, you'd pick one everybody's heard of.”

“Angels have names?” Parker asks. Eliot can't tell if she's joking or not. Then again, he and Hardison had to tell her the story of Cain and Abel during Eliot's explanation hours ago so maybe she genuinely doesn't know.

Hardison's tech is spread all over Eliot's safe house dining room table. Eliot and Parker are helping him research, though Eliot isn't contributing much. He's looking at the photograph of the scars on somebody else again. They look exactly like his. And Eliot doesn't remember any blood and there would have been a lot, if the old man had cut him there.

“El?” Hardison asks.

Eliot glances up. Hardison and Parker are looking at him again. He doesn't think they believe him about what happened in Castiel's motel room.

“So, do you mind?” Hardison asks.

“Mind what?”

“You don't have to, but it's getting late. Maybe it would help if you cooked.”

Eliot realizes he hasn't cooked anything since it happened. Last night, he just skipped dinner and didn't notice. This morning, he grabbed a granola bar on the way out. He was in this house hours before Parker and Hardison got here and he didn't think about food once. Shelf-stable staples are in the cupboards, of course. Usually, he'll bring fresh groceries with him to a safe house but he forgot this time.

He has _guests_ and he didn't offer them any food.

Eliot stands up. He feels a little light-headed. “What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“Whatever you're making,” Hardison says, smiling.

“You don't have any good cereal,” Parker says. “I already checked.”

In the fridge, Eliot finds more than he expected: assorted condiments, garlic, a few carrots, two elderly onions, and the best news, a whole butternut squash. He decides to make red lentil squash soup.

He checks the lentils are still good before he begins. The store-bought broth he finds is acceptable but making it himself would be better. The kitchen has ground spices that aren't too old.

Assembling the soup takes longer than it should. It's a fairly simple recipe, it shouldn't take this much concentration.

Parker wanders in when the soup is almost done and hops up on the counter. She swings her legs, watching him without turning her head.

“You need something?” Eliot asks. It comes out grumpier than he means it to.

She shrugs. “I'm bored.”

He can tell that isn't the whole reason. “Here, taste this for me,” he says, holding out a spoon.

Parker takes it. “It's good,” she pronounces eventually.

Eliot sighs. Unhelpful feedback. “Anything missing?”

“You'd know, wouldn't you?” Parker asks.

“That smells amazing,” Hardison says, coming to join them.

Eliot rolls his eyes and reaches up to get the bowls.

***

About an hour after they've finished eating, Parker looks up suddenly from her screen. She turns toward the front of the house. “Someone's here,” she whispers loudly.

Eliot hears a familiar scraping sound for the second time that day. He has a feeling it isn't Nate and Sophie.

He rushes to the front door, Parker and Hardison right behind him. Eliot unlocks and pulls it open.

Four people are on his doorstep: three men and a woman. One of the men is Castiel.

The tall man bending down to pick the lock loses his balance. He falls over with a surprised grunt and Eliot is just about to kick him in the face when another man lunges forward to shove Eliot back into the house.

His attacker's sleeves are rolled up. Eliot can see they have the same scars.

“Dean!” the tall man yells.

Dean punches Eliot in the stomach but misses his solar plexus. Eliot responds by punching Dean in the jaw, snapping his head back.

Dean growls and pulls a knife out of his belt.

“Dean, no!” the woman yells.

Eliot dodges Dean's opening wild slash and kicks him hard in the knee. Dean cries out.

“Stop!” Castiel shouts. The air pushes Eliot away from Dean but not far this time.

“We're here to _help_ , remember, Dean?” the tall man calls. Dean blinks and stares at the knife in his hand.

Everybody is talking over each other. Eliot doesn't pay attention to any of it. He fights the air until the pressure disappears. He stumbles forward.

Parker grabs his arm from behind. Eliot turns, already swinging at her.

She ducks. Then she punches him in the face, her eyes steely.

Before Eliot can recover, Parker has thrown him expertly to the floor and has her legs wrapped around his neck. He can't breathe.

Reason comes back in a rush. What the hell was he doing? It happened again.

Eliot taps on the floor. One, two, three. Parker loosens her grip a little.

“Sorry,” Eliot gasps, as soon as he has enough air.

She unwraps her legs gracefully and climbs off of him. Eliot sits up, wincing a little, trying to push back his horror at almost hurting Parker.

Hardison offers him a hand up. Eliot hesitates for a moment before accepting it. Hardison pats him on the shoulder when they're standing side by side, Parker a little ahead of them.

“That was _so_ cool,” the strange woman says. She steps forward and extends her hand to Parker. “I'm Charlie Bradbury. Can you teach me how to do that?”

Parker gives her a wary once-over. “Right now?” she asks.

Charlie laughs awkwardly, lowering her hand. “Not if you don't want to. Whenever you have time, I guess.”

Sam steps forward too so he's next to Charlie. “Smooth,” he mutters to her, then smiles at Parker. “I'm Sam Winchester, that's my brother Dean. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Something buzzes unexpectedly. Eliot flinches.

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie says, fishing her phone out of her bag. “I get so many push notifications, probably just time to play more Candy Crush.” She unlocks the screen with a flourish and her eyes widen. “Wow, _that_ can't be a coincidence.”

“What?” Dean asks. He's hanging back with Castiel, leaning against the closed front door. Castiel looks exhausted.

“Somebody just searched for you and Sam on the FBI's database.”

Hardison pockets his phone. The movement is too casual for believability but hopefully, Parker is blocking Charlie's view.

“You have an alert for that?” Sam asks.

Charlie rolls her eyes at him. “Of course. Your digital protection isn't going to look after itself.” She turns to Parker, Hardison, and Eliot. “You guys don't look very FBI to me.”

For one awful moment, Eliot thinks Hardison is going to try to pretend they _are_ FBI. It's not like they don't have working IDs for that. He tries to communicate with his eyes what a horrible idea it is.

Instead, Hardison shrugs. “We're not. I'm Hardison, this is Parker and Eliot.”

Charlie's eyes go wide. “ _Alec_ Hardison? No way. I never thought I'd meet you in real life!”

Parker crosses her arms, staring suspiciously at Charlie.

Hardison grins. “Age of the geek, baby.”

Dean snorts. He opens his mouth to say something.

Sam cuts in before Dean can speak. “So! We have a lot to talk about. Why don't we all sit down?”

Hardison and Parker turn to Eliot. He shrugs. Their visitors aren't going away without either a talk or a fight, and he can't trust himself to fight right now.

Said visitors take that as an invitation to make themselves at home and wander further into the nearby living room. Hardison follows them, pointing out his technology pile to an excited Charlie.

Eliot catches Parker's eye. He hangs back near the foyer. She stays with him. “Thanks for...” He trails off and mimes a punch, low down and away from her.

Her expression relaxes. “It was good, right?”

It was perfect. “Yeah,” Eliot says, smiling. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the next part of what he has to say. Has to ask her to do.

“I'll help you,” Parker says, nodding firmly. She turns away before he can respond properly.

Eliot let out the breath he was holding. Parker gets it. He hoped she did but he wanted to make sure. If he goes off again, she'll step in again. And if Eliot can't make it back... he trusts Parker to make a good decision.

***

Before they'll give any explanations, Sam and Dean want a full recounting of what happened to Eliot. It reminds him a little of how law enforcement operates: the flow of information pretty much only going one way.

It's not a complicated story. Castiel cuts in near the end to downplay how much Eliot really hurt him. “If I had my own Grace, events would have unfolded differently,” he says cryptically.

Hardison leans forward in the armchair. “Wait, so you actually think you're an angel?” he asks.

Castiel glares at him. “I _am_ an angel.” He's sitting on the couch with Sam and Charlie. Dean's wandering restlessly around the room.

Parker is perched on the arm of Hardison's chair. Eliot can tell she's paying very close attention from the way her eyes flick between the visitors.

Eliot is leaning against the wall instead of dragging in a chair from the dining room behind him. If the peace breaks down, he wants to be ready.

“El?” Hardison asks.

Everybody is staring at Eliot, just like this morning at the briefing. “How long has this been happening?” Sam asks.

“How long has _what_ been happening?” Eliot asks, annoyed.

“I started noticing him tuning out a little bit yesterday, after the... after the Mark,” Hardison says. “But today's been worse. Do you think he's feverish?”

“I'm not feverish. And it's not even a real wound so it can't be infected,” Eliot argues.

Sam and Dean look at each other. “That's not necessarily true,” Sam says.

“Since you didn't want the Mark, your body could be trying to reject it,” Dean says.

“And you wanted it?” Eliot asks, before he can stop himself.

Dean's jaw clenches. “We needed it,” he growls.

Sam jumps in. “There was a situation, we handled it. That's not important now.” He sighs. “What's important is telling you about the consequences of the Mark.”

“Which I can do by myself,” Dean says. “Let's take a walk, Eliot.”

“No,” Parker says quickly, not giving Eliot a chance to reply.

“No way,” Hardison says. “You need to tell all of us so we can figure out how to get it off without, y'know.” He makes a slicing motion with his hand.

Eliot's breath hitches as the Mark sends a spike of pain up his arm. He'd think talking about it makes it hurt more, except that would imply the Mark is aware. Eliot can't really deal with that idea, even with all the weird shit since yesterday.

“Eliot will become more violent and less empathetic over time,” Sam says.

Eliot blinks. Did it happen again? It's getting harder to tell.

“When you care less, it's easier to do things you'd regret,” Dean says to him. “But the symptoms... lessen if you give in all the way sometimes.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eliot growls.

“If you kill something,” Dean says, way too casually.

 _This will help you start killing again._ Eliot stares at him. It's all falling into place now.

“We hunt monsters,” Sam says quietly into the absolute silence.

Dean goes on, still speaking to Eliot, “If you don't kill, you will turn into one. Literally.”

Eliot has already done unforgivable things _without_ a curse on his arm. He can feel his shaking hands clench into fists.

“Hey!” Hardison stands up, Parker beside him. “Nobody's killing anybody.”

“You are correct. The Mark of Cain grants invulnerability to death,” Castiel says, rising.

Charlie jumps up too. “Okay!” she says, with fake-sounding cheer, “So, we're going to figure out how to get the Mark off Eliot. Let's focus on that, alright, and leave the rest for now?”

“I've already looked through the books we have at the bunker. I doubt we could find anything new online,” Sam says, the only one still seated.

Charlie grins. “Actually, I maaaay have been working on a Men of Letters archival digitization project.”

“You've been stealing the records and putting them _online_?” Dean asks, incredulous.

“Hey, it doesn't count as stealing if it's helpful!”

Parker shakes her head. “It still counts,” she says. “But it means you're one of the good guys.”

Charlie's grin gets even bigger. “Thanks. Anyway, Dean, I haven't _posted_ the digital copies publicly. They're more like a backup.”

“We don't need a backup,” Dean scoffs.

“We absolutely do. But next time, ask first,” Sam says.

Charlie nods too fast to be convincing. “Oh yeah, I definitely will. For sure.”

Sam sighs. “Let's see them then.”

The group divides as Charlie, Sam, Hardison, and Parker dive into the research. Dean and Castiel go on a grocery run for snacks. Eliot hangs back in the living room, feeling numb. Trying to take everything in.

He sits down on the empty couch, just for a minute. He'll go help research soon. But the couch is so comfortable that he falls asleep almost at once.

***

Eliot wakes up to sunlight peeking through the curtains. It's disorienting for a second. He sits up on the couch. At some point in the night, someone put a blanket over him.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Eliot feels more able to face his house guests. Hardison doesn't look like he's moved since last night, empty bottles of orange soda scattered around him. Parker is wearing a different shirt than last night. It looks familiar... because it's one of the shirts Eliot left here. Sam and Charlie are bent over a laptop. Dean is sitting in the armchair now, reading.

If they'd found something, they would have woken him up, so Eliot just says good morning and goes into the kitchen. He takes an apple out of the bag somebody left on the counter.

“Dean says that is the best kind of apple in pie,” Castiel says, suddenly popping up beside Eliot.

Eliot doesn't flinch, though he can feel his heart rate pick up. “Does he want me to make pie?” Eliot asks.

“Dean always wants pie,” Castiel says seriously.

It's kind of weird to practically break into someone's house and then expect them to spend hours baking for you. But Eliot needs something to do, and he learned how to make apple pie as a kid, long before Toby taught him to cook. “Okay,” he says.

When he's assembled all the ingredients he needs, Eliot gets to work on the crust.

Sam pokes his head into the kitchen when it's almost ready to go in the fridge to chill. “Wow, you _are_ making pie.”

“Yeah, I am.” It comes out grumpier than Eliot intended.

“You don't have to,” Sam says.

Eliot sighs. “I'm no use in there right now,” he says, jerking his head toward the research table. “And this'll keep me busy for a while.”

Sam keeps standing at the edge of the kitchen awkwardly, watching.

Eliot tries to ignore him. He starts peeling an apple. Sophie got him one of those peeler-cutter-corer things a few months ago, but it's back at his main apartment. He'll have to make a new safe house after this.

The apple flesh is already starting to brown a little. Eliot looks up and Sam is still there. “Want to help?” he asks.

“Uh, sure?” Sam says.

Eliot tosses him an apple then a short knife. Sam catches both easily.

“So, what kind of monsters do you hunt?” Eliot asks.

Sam shrugs. “Ghosts, demons, vampires... anything, really.” He's carefully peeling the apple like he wants to take off all the skin in one piece. “We do it to help people. Protect them.”

“I get that,” Eliot says.

“What do you do, normally?” Sam asks.

“We help people too, people the law can't or won't.” Eliot's not going to get into it more than that.

Sam nods. He finishes the apple, gives it and the knife back to Eliot. Before he leaves, Sam says, “I hope we find something.”

Eliot doesn't answer. If there's something to find, Hardison will find it. He has faith.

***

The pie is a huge success. The smell brought everybody into the kitchen one by one to ask when it would be ready. Castiel beams when Eliot hands Dean the first slice.

Eliot's done the dishes and is standing leaning against the wall again when Charlie's voice breaks through his distraction. “Uh, guys? I think I found something.” She types rapidly. “There, sent you the reference, Hardison.”

Eliot sees Hardison open an image file dense with handwritten text. One of the screenshots of books from Charlie's Men of Letters digitization project. Hardison skims through, then freezes.

Charlie says quickly, “I know, I know, but it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, there's textual precedence, sort of?”

“What is it, Charlie?” Sam asks.

“It's a curse-breaking spell. Well, not even really a spell. No drawing symbols or burning colourful candles.” Charlie giggles nervously.

Parker leans over Hardison's shoulder to peer at his screen.

“What do you need for it, then?” Dean asks, reaching for his jacket.

“You need a person,” Charlie says. “Somebody who is the opposite of the cursed person in a specific way but who also has a strong bond of love to them and knows about the curse. This is old magic, like oral folktales old.”

“Is this... human sacrifice?” Sam asks.

“Oh! No, I don't think so,” Charlie says, shaking her head. She turns back to the screen and appears to be rereading the relevant section.

“It doesn't say anything about dying,” Parker says, still reading over Hardison's shoulder.

“Looks to me like they have to be the opposite in a way that's tied to the curse,” Hardison says.

Charlie looks up. “Yeah, so if the Mark of Cain is about being a warrior and killing people, you'd need someone who isn't like that at all but still loves the cursed person.”

Hardison stands up. “Sounds good to me.”

He walks over to Eliot, eyes intense. Eliot uncrosses his arms and stops leaning against the wall.

Hardison stops right in front of him. He gently covers the Mark with one hand and leans in. He's kissing Eliot almost before he realizes what is happening. Eliot's surprise melts in the reality of Hardison's mouth on his. He's warm, soft but firm too. It feels _right_.

When Hardison ends the kiss, Eliot blinks at him. His knees are a little weak.

Everybody in the room is staring at them. Charlie looks absolutely delighted.

Hardison lets go of Eliot's arm. “It worked,” he says, grinning in triumph. It lights up his whole face.

It's a good couple of seconds before Eliot can focus his attention elsewhere. By then, everybody is crowding close, taking turns examining the unmarked skin of Eliot's arm and Hardison has moved out of easy reach.

Dean clears his throat. “Well, that worked.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, it definitely did.”

“That was _amazing_ ,” Charlie gushes.

Castiel says, abruptly, “I love you, Dean, but I've killed too many people to be an effective cure.” He looks a bit unhappy about it.

Dean's eyes widen. He stares at Castiel like he can't believe his ears.

“Oh my god,” Charlie whispers, covering her mouth with her hands.

Sam keeps looking between his brother and Castiel, eyebrows up.

After a painfully awkward silence, Dean says, “Well, Cas, I still need the Mark to defeat Cain so uh...” He trails off.

“Of course,” Castiel says.

Dean clears his throat again. “Okay, uh, we should get going then.”

“I'll come back with you guys to the bunker,” Charlie says. “Maybe I can find an easier way to look for Cain.”

Sam nods slowly. “Sure, good idea. You mind bringing Cas? His car was stolen.”

Eliot's pretty sure _he's_ the one who stole Castiel's car. Castiel opens his mouth, probably to say so, but Charlie cuts him off. “Great! Can you carry this to my car please, Cas, thanks!” She pushes a bundle of clothes and computer junk into his hands.

“Eliot stole my car,” Castiel says, standing his ground and ignoring Charlie's shooing motions.

“We'll find you another one,” Charlie says.

“I left beside a gas station about three miles south,” Eliot offers. “Might even still be there.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, apparently in all sincerity.

They leave quickly enough after that. Charlie, for all her hurry earlier, is the last to go. On her way out the door, she whispers to Eliot, “From one queer person to hopefully another... that kiss was not platonic, bro.” She grins and waves past him to Hardison and Parker.

Eliot closes the door behind her and turns around in time to hear Hardison say quietly to Parker, “I meant what I said before, about pretzels. Nothing's changed there.”

A little tension leave Parker's shoulders. She's breathing fast and fidgeting, sneaking glances at both of them.

None of them say anything for a long moment. Eliot breaks the silence. “Thank you,” he says to Hardison.

Hardison's mouth twitches like he's holding back a smile. “No problem,” he says. “I wasn't sure if you'd... be okay with that.”

Eliot almost takes the easy way out, almost says that he's kissed men before, what's the big deal. He could turn this into another light-hearted banter routine. Hardison would let him.

Before Eliot can find better, more emotionally honest words, Parker blurts out, “I would've tried.”

They both look at her.

She takes a deep breath and continues, “If Hardison wasn't here, I would've tried, even it might not work.” Her eyes are fixed on Eliot's, desperate for him to understand.

Eliot can only nod, too surprised to speak.

Parker blinks rapidly. She's still braced for something, standing unnaturally still now.

“Okay,” Eliot says. He should say something more. They both love him. Why? “I would too. For both of you.”

“Okay,” Hardison repeats. He's grinning.

Parker exhales. She still looks a bit freaked out, and Eliot is right there with her, but starting to relax.

They stand there, looking at each other. This time, Hardison breaks the silence. “There isn't a deadline on this,” he says, gesturing to all of them. “We can take our time to figure it out.”


End file.
